The familiar room
awaits the host.
Dance, then, in pools of ink!
Then, the blue traces…
Are the tombs that smile
comfortable to their guests
so that the pecking
and all the waiting is equal
to the birds’ croak?
Wait!
December is in a pathetic fit
and deepens the making
of verse
Melodrama for melomadmen!
Lenore, my dear,
are you leaving, figuratively?